Eulogy for the Living

I’m here today to say goodbye
to a love that isn’t dead
but damn sure isn’t mine anymore.

No casket.
No lilies.
Just the ghost of your laugh
echoing in my ribs
and the echo
hurts more than the silence.

This isn’t a funeral.
It’s a letting go ceremony.
An un-wedding.
An unwinding of vows we never spoke aloud
but carved into habits,
into routines,
into grocery lists
and playlists
and promises like:
"Let’s never lose this."

We did.

I stand here, heart in hand
not bleeding,
but bruised in all the ways you can’t see on an X-ray.
This grief is quiet.
Polite.
Still does the dishes.
Still asks about your day
even when you're just a name on a screen now.

See, you didn’t leave.
You just…
changed rooms in my life
without telling me
which door you went through.

And I’ve been opening the wrong ones ever since.

I miss you
like a song I used to love
but now can’t listen to
because it knows too much about me.

I miss us
not the chaos
not the breakdowns
not the holding-on-for-dear-life versions of us
I miss
the way you used to look at me
like I was something
holy.

Now I’m just
haunting my own hope.

So today, I light this poem
like a candle.

I let it burn
for all the versions of us
that might have been.

And I say this, soft but sure:

You were
a chapter.
A damn good one, maybe the best.
But the story keeps going,
and I’ve got pens to bleed,
pages to turn,
people to meet
who might finally
stay.

I’ll always love you.
But I don’t have to carry you.

And maybe that
is the most loving thing I’ve ever done.

Not Mine

Why am I this mad

over something that was never mine?

Why does it burn

like something was stolen

when it was never in my hands to begin with?

A job.

A maybe.

A half-promise wrapped in polite interview etiquette.

A chance I thought I had

but never really did.

Are you allowed to grieve something

you never actually held?

How do you bleed

when you were never even cut?

It’s not about the job.

It’s about the fear.

The fear of not being enough.

Of being passed over.

Of being invisible

in a world that screams for confidence

but doesn’t notice you unless you’re already standing on a pedestal

made of corporate pandering and luck.

I fear being stuck.

I fear being broke.

I fear needing help

in a world that tells you to hustle

while watching you drown.

I fear being dependent.

On people.

On kindness.

On crumbs.

I fear not making it.

Not mattering.

Not surviving.

Not becoming anything more than a cautionary tale.

And yeah.

These fears feel real.

They sit in my chest

like unpaid rent.

They whisper in my ear

with voices that sound like mine.

But feelings aren’t facts.

And fear isn’t prophecy.

And pain doesn’t mean I’m broken

it means I care.

I am allowed to feel this.

To rage.

To scream.

To be bitter for a second.

To grieve the things I almost had.

But I don’t have to stay there.

I don’t have to carry this.

These fears?

They’re loud, but they’re not real.

They’re echoes.

They’re lies with good marketing.

They’re ghosts wearing the faces of my doubts.

I can name them.

I can feel them.

And then I can let.

Them.

Go.

Burdens and Beasts

I am Sisyphus
and I am the boulder.
The weight, the struggle, the endless climb.
Every day, I push the stone uphill,
knowing it will roll back down.
Knowing I will do it again.

And yes
I am the boulder.
The burden. The flaw.
The consequence of my own hands.
This torment is not placed upon me
I built it.
I shaped it.
I made it mine.

I am Prometheus
and I am the eagles.
Torn apart by the world,
ripped open by my own choices.
My flesh, stolen piece by piece,
only to heal, only to lose it again.
And yet
I feast.
I take.
Even knowing the cost.
I devour through anguish.
I destroy through knowing.
Still, the cycle spins.

I am Odin.
gouging out parts of myself for wisdom,
only to find knowledge is not salvation
it is a heavier burden.
I’ve given everything to understand
and still, I suffer.
Still, I bleed.
Still, I fall.
Still, I climb.

I am Icarus
drunk on ambition
so desperate to rise I forget the price of flying.
The sun was never meant to hold me
yet still, I rise.
Still, I burn.
Still, I fall
wax melting down my spine
pretending I didn’t see it coming.

I am Hades
lord of my own underworld
dragging the ghosts of my past
crowned king of wreckage.
I built this kingdom out of pain
named it home
dared anyone to take it from me.

I am Atlas
my back breaking beneath the weight.
The world presses down
daring me to let it fall.
But I don’t.
I hold it.
Because I was told it was mine.

I am Narcissus.
not in love but in desperation,
staring into the reflection.
trying to recognize what’s left
if there’s anything more
than the hollow shape of who I used to be.

I am Orpheus.
turning back when I shouldn’t
letting doubt unravel what I built
watching love slip away
because I could not trust it would stay.

I am Achilles
strong, untouchable
or so I pretend.
But I know where my weakness lives.
I know what will bring me down.
Still, I leave it exposed.

I am creation and destruction
the sword above me
and the choice
to stay
or to take one step forward.